


Enthralled

by Flufflybunnypants



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Age Swap, Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst, Fluff, I guess though it's not like a main focus of this fic, Non-Graphic Violence, Older Jared Padalecki, Viking AU, Younger Jensen Ackles, historical swiving, monk!jensen, viking!jared
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-07
Updated: 2016-07-03
Packaged: 2018-03-06 12:02:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 17,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3133760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flufflybunnypants/pseuds/Flufflybunnypants
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jared is a viking chieftain, though his clan is small enough that he must work amongst his men. Still, Jared reaps the benefit when his marauding men bring back a new thrall: Jensen, formerly an Irish monk. Jared just wants to show Jensen he won't hurt him, won't force him. Jensen just wants Jared to stop pretending they're anything but master and thrall. Jensen's pretty stubborn, but Jared's patient. Can he make things work with Jensen?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Nude Prude

**Author's Note:**

> This is not a finished piece, but I don't write cliffhangers so as each chapter is added, it will read as complete. I promise.  
> As always y'all are welcome to wander 'round my blog: dark-stars-and-a-quiet-moon.tumblr.com and chat with me about any SPN headcanons you're harboring! :)

Jared is merry, his hall filled with wine soaked warriors. His own cup is more water than wine, for a chief cannot risk foolishness.

The last longboat has arrived on the shore, and those men are doubtless at the gates even now. His men are home for a time, their coffers and bellies full.The captain of that last limping ship comes before him with an obsequious smile. "Fortunate are we, milord, that in our haste homeward we came upon a heavy laden ship. Its profits, through us, are yours. And what a rare, sweet treasure it is."

The hall quiets to a dull roar and the people part. One of the captain's men throws a messy bundle of limbs to the ground at Jared's feet. Clothed in a thin pale robe, the man is dirty, but strangely captivating. He looks up with bright green eyes, but lets his head bow again. There's a bag tied to his neck, twine choking and chafing.

Jared's displeased with the state of this thrall, but thanks the men and offers them wine. As the hall resumes its celebrations, Jared uses his belt knife to sever the cord. The bag in one hand, he heaves the man over one shoulder. The man is unresisting, though it cannot be comfortable to have his wrists and ankles tied.

Jared hands the man to two guards he trusts, and bids them take the man to be cleaned. A ship journey leaves all men unpleasantly ripe and grimy.

The man reaches with bound hands for the bag, but is firmly dragged off.  
____________________________

Jensen can feel his ankles and wrists burning as the rope around them twists. He can barely stumble, but these Norsemen march on inexorably. They reach a large hut, and knock on the door. They drop Jensen at the threshold and with his balance undone, he drops to his knees and nearly cracks his skull on the stone doorframe. The men leave, laughing to themselves and the door is opened by a young woman. Another appears behind her and they step out and raise Jensen to his feet. With deft fingers they undo his bonds and step out of striking range rapidly. He makes no move but waits and they shove him in, not unkindly.

Inside, he blushes for women in various states of undress lay around a large stone pool. There's heat like a wall rising around him and it makes his weariness ever more unbearable. The women laugh amusedly as he hides his face and more hands pull him forward. A voice rings above the rest with words he doesn't understand. They strip him of his robe and drag him into the pool. He is eager to preserve his modesty and sinks low into the warmth, still averting his eyes from the scantily clad women and girls all around.

A woman sitting on the edge with hair as fiery as that of many of his kinsmen reaches out and tilts his head up so that he must look her in the eyes.

"How," she asks slowly and deliberately, "do you call yourself?"

"Jensen." There's no shame in sharing his name, only hope that they will not make a mockery of him and dub him something too cruel. There are hands on his back, prodding the welts and stripes across his shoulders, but they are gone as soon as he flinches.

"Jensen." She says it thoughtfully. A childish voice behind her asks something, and she smiles slightly. "She wants to know how you got so speckled."

Jensen blushes deeper, despite knowing it'll only make the freckles more visible. "The sun. I worked in the sun often."

"Worked?"

"The monastery," she looks a bit confused but nods when he imitates the folded hands of prayer, "I wrote outdoors so my inks would dry." He gestures as he speaks, keeping the water up to his elbows, and she seems to understand.

"And the marks. Our men?"

"My lady?" There's no harm in being respectful, not when she's leading this interrogation and seems quite capable of adding to those stripes.

"If one of ours made those marks, we can," she gesture a little frustrated, "thralls with bad masters can be brought before the chief and given to another household."

Oh. Jensen has given little thought to how low he is among them. "No, my lady. It was not at their hands."

She nods, and whispers to one of the slave girls who is leaning against her casually and the girl frowns and walks out.

The red haired lady introduces herself as Danneel and tells the slave girls to get on with washing him. He squeaks and tries to take the soap from them to wash himself. They laugh but allow him the dignity of washing himself from the waist down. His shoulders and back are gently taken care of by the girls, their small hands light on the stinging lines.

He is grateful when they allow him out of the pool, though the breeches and linen shirt they hand him are odd indeed. He has worn a habit so long that this seems unnatural. And it is thin, this material, and both articles of clothing drape in an unseemly way, so large are they on him. The slippers fit well enough but he harbors no illusions about being able to run in them.

A pretty, small, girl child is sent with Jensen to wherever he's being taken. She's chubby and sweet, hand curled in his, waiting for him to catch up on his aching and cold legs.

They reach another hut and she bangs on the door obnoxiously until it flies open. The chief standing in the doorway sees her bouncing on her toes, and gives the girl a kiss on her head.

Jensen stands behind her and shivers.

She tugs the chief's sleeve and waits until he indulgently bends down. He can catch his own name but nothing else. The chief repeats Jensen's name. The girl skips off, after hugging the man familiarly, leaving Jensen on his own with this bear of a man.

All Jensen knows is that he's the chief, evidenced in his wealth of fur and precious metals, and Jensen is now his.  
___________________________

Jared sees the thrall shiver and realizes he's gotten lost in the man's stunning eyes. Unclasping his outermost cloak, he swirls it out and secures it in the hollow of the man's throat. Jared wants to trace the lovely lines of that throat, but the wind is brutal out here and it is no place to linger.

It's easy to drag Jensen inside where it's not icy; Jared lit the hearth earlier and it's still glowing warm.

He pushes Jensen towards the bed, piled high with furs, on a mattress well stuffed with soft rushes.  This thrall is not suited for heavy work. But he's most definitely built like a bed-slave. Jensen's curled into the cape, delicate fingers holding the edges. He looks worn, hunching slightly as he sits on the bed.

Jared fills a light goblet with watered down mead and fishes for a bit of salted meat in a pouch. He offers it to Jensen like the thrall is a skittish pup.

Jensen eyes it suspiciously, and refuses it. Jared tries again, taking a small bite of it and then offering it. Jensen allows Jared to feed him, the low rumble of his stomach speaking for him. Deep shame colors the man, though he still gobbles down the food hungrily.

Jared says softly, "Jensen?" When Jensen can meet his eyes again, he points to himself and says, "Jared." None of his clan are formal outside the mead hall, and in any case, slaves taken end up as part of the household and grow familiar with their masters.

Jensen repeats it almost inaudibly. His hands are trembling in his lap where he twists them together tightly, though he betrays no emotion on his face. He lets Jared's hand play at the nape of his neck.

Jared leans in, pulling Jensen's chin up and kisses him. Jensen actually growls, "No," and almost falls on his ass shoving away from Jared. Jared's amused now. Jensen is no Viking, and his hands are soft from whatever he did before, perhaps as a cleric or something. And yet he fights like he means it, no fear just pure defiance. It's adorable is what it is. Jared puts his hands out placatingly.

Jensen growls in the back of his throat as Jared gets closer. Jared dredges up his knowledge of Jensen's language and begins, "Easy there, you will not come to harm."

"Do. Not." Jensen looks like he might actually bite.

Jared manages to herd Jensen back to the bed and then steps back, showing Jensen that he means no harm. Fearful or angry bed-slaves are more trouble than anything else. He can make a game of breaking this thrall down until he's just melted by a look from Jared. It's not like it's going to be hard.

 

It's hard. Jensen isn't afraid persay, he just avoids Jared like Jared is covered with elk droppings. He's dutiful but the moment he is not required, he's gone. Jared's fire is always blazing, Jared's food is always tested, and Jared's thrall is always more than an arms length away. It would be irritating if it wasn't a little sad. Jared falls asleep with Jensen in his bed, and wakes to find Jensen sleeping on the floor. It's dirty (boots track in _everything_ ) and the floor leaves ridged marks on Jensen's soft cheeks.

Jensen looks weary, eating hardly anything and clearly sleeping very little, but he perseveres with a determination unmatched. He is absolutely unwavering and refuses to compromise his boundaries an inch. It makes Jared want him even more, that flashing fire in Jensen's eyes calling him closer.

For all that Jensen is stiff with him, he is loved well by the children and their mothers. Too often, Jared finds Jensen at the end of the night, by the littlest fire, half buried by children. The children have all picked up a smattering of Jensen's language and Jensen himself has learned a great deal of Norse. He tells them tales from his home until their mothers call them to bed. And Jared, watching out of sight, has seen Jensen carry the sleepiest babes to their homes. Jensen does all his chores, works tirelessly in evading Jared, and then spends valuable time he could be sleeping entertaining the children.

Jared himself has a soft spot for the children of his clan, and Jensen's devoted smiles to them make Jared ache with an odd jealousy.

He works to show Jensen that he won't hurt him. He's not a cruel man. He'd give Jensen pleasure, and he's sure Jensen would learn to be with Jared happily. At least, if Jensen would stay near him long enough to hear him out.


	2. Bumps and Bruises

Jared's out on the outskirts one evening, talking repairs with Chad, when one of the young men breathlessly runs up and gasps out that Jared needs to get back. Immediately.

Jared runs easily to where people are gathering. He pushes his way to the center of the crowd and immediately feels his blood boil. Jensen's on the ground, and a sailor named Tyr has his knee dug into Jensen's back. He can see his old cloak twisted around Jensen's torso, soaked and freezing.  
______________________

"What is going on?" Jared's  voice is like the clash of steel on steel.

Jensen can't see, not with the snow pressed into his face. But he knows Jared's voice, and right now it is stridently demanding answers. Jensen can't pay too much attention to it, not when his mouth is burning at the corners under the makeshift gag forced on him and his whole head is aching.

He knows why Tyr is pressing so painfully into him. The man's daughter is with child and she refuses to name the father. Tyr assumed that when his child sought Jensen for comfort that it was he who'd impugned his girl's honor. Never mind that Jensen used to be a monk, or that hearing confessions had been something he was actually good at. Jensen is a thrall and if he had slept with a free woman, he's pretty sure Tyr would have the right to just run him through and leave him in the dust.

But since he didn't he'd rather like to live.

Brigid has protested the whole thing(though she still won't name the boy) and Jensen is grateful for that. Her word is not worth much but, still, it is worth more than Jensen's.

The pain in his back eases and he can breathe again. He tries to roll off his front but all he manages is a pained groan.

Tiny hands pull him to his side and then to a sitting position. There are four of the small children around his legs and one of the young women is kneeling behind him so she can support his head.

Little Asta offers him a small cupful of water and he feels the pain in his chest ease as he drinks it down. The ground is cold and unyielding, so he's certain he'll find bruises blossoming by tomorrow morning. There's a growing barrier of small ones around him, though he tries to send them back to their mothers. There's no need to use such young ones as a shield. He'll take what comes, and they should not suffer for him.

But they have unusual fondness for him and are hugging him and clambering into his lap to pat his face and try to reassure him. Two men, one not hardly full-grown and the other an elderly thrall take up positions at his side.

Tyr is known for his temper and for his easy application of his fists. It's kind of them all to stand between him and a man who would like to beat him into the ground but he can't allow it.

He stands wearily, shoving the knee-high children towards their elder siblings who stand back as is appropriate. The boy on his left grabs his arm as he sways, and Jensen nods his thanks. He looks back up in time to see Jared, radiating fury, shouting and ordering Tyr away.

Jensen hobbles to his place, a pace behind Jared and to his left. His knees seem to want to give way but he refuses. Tyr storms off, his daughter hiding in a cluster of women who return Tyr's glare unflinchingly.  
_____________________________

Jared whirls around and nearly trips over Jensen. There's rough cloth twisted and tied to gag him and there's a red swollen bump on his temple. Jared wants to go after Tyr and pummel him, but he refrains, instead ordering young Destin to bring Jensen back to his chambers.

Jensen leans gratefully on the boy, fingers digging into those shoulders to stay upright. Jared sends two of the girls to fetch water and soft cloths. He disperses the crowd and reminds them that he will not have fighting here.

When Jared catches up with Jensen, he's sitting on the edge of the bed, Destin sitting at his feet with damp eyes. Jensen's carding his fingers through the boy's hair silently.

When Jared steps in, looming in the doorway, Destin squeezes Jensen's shoulder and then scurries off.

Jensen stands unsteadily and fumbles for the clasp of the cloak and the ties of his shirt. Jared knocks his trembling hands away and undoes the cloak himself, hanging it to the side. The girls come in and set the supplies on the table before respectfully leaving and shutting the door.

As gently as he can, Jared slides a pair of snips under the cloth gag and cuts it. As he peels it away, it pulls at the bloodied split corners of Jensen's mouth and Jensen whimpers. He's silent otherwise and will not meet Jared's eyes. This is the most subservient Jared's ever seen him and he _does not like it_.

Jared pulls the unresisting Jensen into his lap and wipes tenderly at the blood, cleaning it away. Jensen lets Jared tilt his head up, though he keeps his eyes closed. He clutches at Jared's wrist where it wraps around his torso when Jared dabs a minty paste onto the corners of his mouth. It ought to ease the sting though he won't be telling stories for a bit. There's naught he can do for the swelling bump on Jensen's head but press a cool cloth to it.

Jensen is shaking badly by the time Jared's done. He holds his thrall with his chin resting on Jensen's head and hums quietly.

Jensen tries to move away but it's a weak effort at best and he stops when Jared reassures him, "I'm not going to do anything you don't wish. I failed you today. You're mine, and he stepped over his boundaries. He'll pay, I swear."  
Jared rocks Jensen gently and lets him hide his face and the tears that fall. The poor thing is so tired and surely aching badly.

Jared sets Jensen down to unlace his boots and shove them under the bed. He tugs Jensen's lighter slippers off and scowls when he notices the hole worn wide into one of them. How did he not notice that? Why didn't Jensen come to him? Jared knows the answers even if he doesn't like them.

He pulls Jensen under the bed coverings and keeps his arms wrapped around him. For once Jensen doesn't stay stiff and cold to Jared. And for once, Jared wakes with Jensen in his arms, completely asleep and at peace.


	3. Kisses and Tummy Rubs

Jared opens his eyes to find Jensen still in his arms and burrowing deeper into Jared's chest. He's needy and making little noises and Jared just holds him more firmly and rubs his back soothingly.

One of Misha's girls comes in and rekindles the fire where it's died down, before silently taking her leave. Jared kisses Jensen's temple, and wriggles out of bed, laughing internally at the little scrunched-nose grumpy face Jensen makes at being kissed.

Jared pulls on his boots and cloak quickly and leaves to settle business for the day. It takes hardly any time and he hurries back to his home.

Just in time, fortunately, to catch Jensen carefully hobbling outside. Without a word, he wraps an arm around Jensen and steers him inside, ignoring the feeble protests.

"We are spending a day in."

"No," Jensen says mulishly. "You cannot expect me to abandon my job." His mouth stays pursed and he winces every time he opens his mouth, though the scabs don’t crack.

"Yes, I can." Jared feels like an asshole, but it's for Jensen's good.  "Your job is to obey. Does it help if I say I'm having a day in and you'll be staying with me?"

"No. Sir." Jensen's glare makes it clear that there's no respect in that word.

"Sit down." Jared pulls Jensen's slippers off and waves one at him. "Next time you need something, ask. Or make it obvious. I have a duty to you and I don't think you walking in the cold with this nonsense means I'm fulfilling my duty."

Jensen sits on the bed, his arms folded crossly, while Jared goes to fish out another pair of shoes.

When he turns around, Jensen is completely asleep on his side in a little ball. Jared almost laughs, but the sight of bruises up Jensen's ribs sobers him.  
He shifts Jensen easily, and tucks him in again. He's never had a thrall so persistently stubborn and yet so inclined to be helpful. It's like Jensen is determined to be the best thrall but to be entirely uncompromising in bed.

Jared calls to one of the small girls running around outside and tells her what to fetch. She scrambles off eagerly, leaving her playmates to crowd around Jared’s knees until she returns. She comes back and offers her armful to him.

"Thank you, Asta."

She tugs at his shirt until he kneels down. She wetly whispers in his ear, "Be nice, Big Jad. Jes'n's ouchie."

"Yeah, I know. That's what this is for, to fix the ouchie."

"Be nice. Momma said if you nice, he be nice to you. Like he play nice with me." She smiles at that and it's damn cute. Jared is not technically Asta's kin, but gods, the child is sweet enough that he wishes he was. She also has absolutely no concept of hierarchy and still calls him Big Jared.

"I'll be real nice to Jensen, okay?"

"C'n I tell you som'ing?"

"Sure." She's the worst little gossip, worse than any of the old ladies who pinch his butt. And she's also the most useful source of information.

"Destin bad. It his fault."

With that, she kisses his scruffy cheek and bounds off to the children waiting for her to rejoin then.

Jared mulls that over as he goes back in. He sits by the hearth and whittles while Jensen sleeps. He's got a decent outline for a horse and rider when Jensen makes snuffly little noises and sits up with some difficulty.

Jared hurries over and tries to help Jensen sit but Jensen swats his hands away. "I can do it, I'm fine, I'm fine."

Jared tugs briskly on Jensen's shirt, ignoring Jensen's squawking. When he's pulled it off, Jensen shrinks away, shaking his head. He thinks Jared would take him in this state? It would break Jensen entirely, and Jared refuses that.

"I'm just going to help."

"I don't need help."

"I just want to ease the marking. Surely it hurts."

"Stop it," Jensen snaps, standing and hobbling away. "Don't play games! You want to fuck me? Do it. Don't pretend this is something it's not, act like this matters at all except that an injured slave works slower. It doesn't matter. It doesn't fuckin' matter." Jensen suddenly drops to one knee shakily, one hand on the wall, bracing himself, and the other covering his face. "I know what you want, so take it and leave me out of your games."

Jensen slowly pushes himself back to standing and goes and lies on the bed, splayed and stiff. He’s offering what he thinks Jared wants.

Jared decides to take the opportunity.

He works the oil into Jensen's skin, blessing the elderly women for their endless supplies of herbs. He keeps a cool bit of ice wrapped in cloth against Jensen’s head where it’s still swollen red and delicately dabs at the scabbed corners of Jensen’s poor pretty mouth.

Jensen is like a wooden doll, even when Jared pushes him onto his front. Jared wraps a thin sheet over Jensen and kisses his messy hair before standing.  
Jensen watches him go with quiet bewilderment.

Jared's back in a very short time, bearing food. He sets the food on the side table and waits for Jensen to reach for it, but Jensen keeps his hands curled in the sheet around his shoulders. Jared sits next to him, pulls the plate into his lap and offers Jensen bites of food. Jensen eats almost delicately from Jared's hand, and the quiet is nice.

"Here," he says, when the food is gone. "You have to rest, but perhaps this will cheer you."

From a drawer he pulls out the burlap sack that Jensen was brought with. Neatly he undoes the ties and lets a book, two quills, and some jars slide out. He moves the book to Jensen and sets everything else aside.

"I'll be back soon. I expect you to rest, Jensen, do you understand?"

"Yessir." Jensen looks shocked but not unhappy.

"Jared. Just call me Jared." He sighs, "If the children can run around calling me Big Jared, I'm pretty sure my own thrall can handle it."

"Yes, si-Jared." Jensen ducks his head, but doesn’t move away when Jared pets softly at the hair at the nape of his neck.

Jared grins. Jensen seems unable to fathom Jared being nice to him, but as long as he can keep Jensen close, he can make Jensen like him.

Jared leaves, satisfied that Jensen is as well kept as he can be for now.

When Jared returns from his duties, Jensen's curled around the book in front of the hearth, looking at it sleepily. He closes it and rolls onto his back to squint up at Jared.

Jared hangs his cloak up, puts all of the various ornaments he wears on the table, and sits down next to Jensen. He runs a hand over Jensen’s stomach and Jensen just closes his eyes and stretches his arms up over his head.

Jared keeps gently rubbing Jensen’s tummy. “Are you tired?”

Jensen shakes his head but doesn’t open his eyes. Jared swiftly scoops him up and carries him to the bed. Jensen doesn’t react except to hold onto Jared, even as Jared tries to settle him into bed. With some preternatural sense, he flinches away when Jared leans in to kiss him. Instead, Jared brushes a kiss onto Jensen’s cheek, and lets Jensen pull him into the bed. It’s dark outside, but the fire is still burning merrily. Jensen practically drags Jared on top of him, like a human blanket, all without opening his eyes. Jared curls around a little, to avoid putting his weight on Jensen, careful with Jensen’s aching body.

Jensen’s breathing evens out in no time at all, and in the darkness Jared is lulled to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, feedback helps me immensely. Anything from stupid spelling errors to continuity errors, if you see it tell me. :) And tell me what you want. I have a loose plan but I can always accommodate.


	4. Finding Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My friend has been bugging me about this and since I am living with her this weekend, I must bow to her superior will. Love you, man. <3

By the time Jensen is mostly healed, he’s comfortable sleeping in Jared’s bed, and for that Jared is grateful. Still, Jared wishes Jensen would let him in all the way. He’s grown unnaturally fond of Jensen, more than is proper certainly. He’d dare any man to wake up next to Jensen and not want to lay abed all day.

Jared refuses Jensen’s plea to work as he had before. Jensen cannot be hauling firewood in the cold, or clearing snow from the doors. Instead, Jensen will be at the beck and call of the kitchen girls. Turning a spit is hot, dull work, but not strenuous for a man fully-grown. Jensen may be wee next to Jared, but many men have failed to reach such heights, so it’s not a weakness in Jensen’s bloodline.

Jensen’s not pleased, but he keeps his mouth shut. The petulant way he turns away from Jared hurts a little, but Jared can live with it. He bundles Jensen up in the pre-dawn dark before Jensen hurries off.

Jensen comes back that night in a whirl of snow, stomping his boots outside. Inside, he hangs his cloak by the fire so that it may dry, and begins stripping out of his clothes. When Jared tries to move closer, Jensen glares.

Jared waits, standing.

He’s not quite prepared for Jensen, completely naked, to kneel at his feet. “Punish me.”

“What?!” Jared keeps trying to move back, so he’s not looking straight down at Jensen, trying to get enough space to focus on Jensen’s face and not his dick.

“Do it.”

“No, why?”

“If a thrall is not punished by his master, an offended party will definitely take on the duty,”

“That is not a whit clearer.”

Jensen looks at him as though he’s a half-wit. “If you don’t leave a mark after I tried to defend myself against a free man and talked back to him, he will find a way to make me pay.”

“Tyr?”

“God’s teeth, yes!” Jensen is exasperated.

Jared goes to one knee, and cups Jensen’s face in his palms contemplatively. “Who told you this?” Now Jensen is the one shifting backwards. Gentle touches unnerve Jensen, though Jared has seen that with perseverance, Jensen starts to seek the soft reassurance and tender affection.

“The girls warned me. Daughters of his kinsmen or thralls in his house, they all know my days are numbered if you do not prove you can handle an ‘insolent thrall’. My life, Sir. It’s not a price I’ll pay, not to him, not for what I did.”

“What you did? He walked away with nary a scratch.”

“I put my arms up to protect my face, and it has damned me. It was not my place to refuse him, not my place—”

“It was not his place to touch you,” Jared growls. “Get up.” He lifts Jensen to his feet, spins him around, brushes a feather light kiss to the top knobs of his spine before shoving him towards his discarded clothes. “Pants and cloak only.”

__________________

Jensen obeys, his skin prickling. This is Jared the Chief, not the Jared who quietly and peaceably runs a small household.

Jared finds leather strips, and catches Jensen’s wrists in front of him. He binds him neatly, but not cruelly. It doesn’t pinch, and Jared presses an almost apologetic kiss to each wrist.

Without warning, Jared scoops Jensen up bridal style, arranging the cloak so that it covers Jensen’s bare torso.

It’s a short walk to the longhouse, but Jensen still shivers and tucks his bound hands under the fur edge of Jared’s sweeping cloak. Jared catches a triad of young men on the walk over and orders them to call everyone to the Thing.

In the longhouse, Jared swings Jensen down and settles him by the ornately carved chair at the head of the hall. Jensen kneels, his hands in his lap, and Jared keeps his hand tangled proprietarily in the short strands at the back of Jensen’s head. Jensen chooses to let his head bow under that warm weight.

He can hear people settling in, men taking their customary places. At least here in the hall, though it’s smoky, it’s warm. Jensen’s eyes sting a little, but it’s nowhere near as bad as sitting in front of the kitchen fires today.

Jared (how stupid is it that Jensen’s allowed himself to name his master so familiarly even in his head?) greets the assemblage. After they respond in kind, Jared gets down to business.

“Those who dispute my handling of my thrall should speak to me, and not whisper amongst themselves as women. Will you step forward or will you force me to call upon you like recalcitrant children?”

Three men step forward, from the glimpse Jensen has of their boots.

“What quarrel do you have with my boy?” Jared’s voice is low and authoritative. Jensen blushes ridiculously at being called a boy, but holds his peace. It is not his place to speak here.

“My daughter,” Tyr speaks, “has spent time with him willingly, and between them they have begat a child.”

“Where does your proof lie?”

“In my daughter’s swelling stomach,” Tyr replies acidly. There’s a murmur of laughter at that.

“Proof she bears a child, nothing more.” Jared addresses the men behind Tyr. “Do you stand with him as kinsmen?”

“Family cannot be abandoned.”

“True.” Jared keeps running his thumb up and down the side of Jensen’s neck, soothing enough that Jensen feels himself relaxing his jaw(he realizes it aches from how hard he’d clamped it shut).

“Tyr, does your daughter hint at who the father of her child is?”

“No.” The man sounds so thoroughly put out that Jensen almost wants to look up and see his displeasure.

“Brigid?” Jared calls. Addressing the women at the back, he asks, “Is Brigid within these walls?”

She shuffles forward unwilling, her skirt hem closer to Jensen than the men’s boots. “Milord?”

“Will you name your child’s father?”

“No.”

“Then you agree with your father?” Jared rips the cloak off Jensen, lets them all see the sickly-coloured bruises. Jensen shivers a bit, but lets Jared continue with his theatricality. There’s a dark mood that surfaces. He has no doubt these—these barbarians have hit a slave, but there are rules. You don’t make a slave useless and you don’t touch another man’s property.

Brigid makes not a sound. Jensen knows that if Jared’s bluff gets called Jared will have to bow to tradition and Jensen will end up in a hell of a lot of pain.

Therefore it’s a relief when there’s a rising swell of muttering and a smaller pair of boots step up.

Brigid hisses, “Destin, no.”

“Brigid, I cannot do this anymore. I am the father, milord,” he declares loudly. ”That child was conceived of my dove, Brigid, and I. I will not hide from her father anymore.”

Jensen looks up as just Tyr catapults himself at the young man. The angry man is halted in his tracks by Jared, towering over him furiously. “You will leave them be, Tyr. They’ve done no harm by you, and your daughter is blessing you with grandchildren before you grow old. Do not spurn Freyja’s gifts.”

Tyr opens his mouth but doesn’t get a word out before Jared continues, his voice harshly reverberating in the hall. “You will pay my recompense for the loss of his work. Three silver marks.”

“Three!” Tyr is outraged. Jensen does the calculation and almost falls over. It’s close to half the wergild for killing a freedman.

Jared stands firm. “Three marks will not break your house, and the loss of his labor over falsehoods deserves even payment.”

Jared dismisses the people, business now settled. Brigid tearfully apologizes as Destin pulls Jensen to his feet and wraps the cloak around him again. Jensen quietly hushes them both, blessing them as he knows how, and wishing them well. Jensen steps back as Jared comes to them.

Jared clasps Destin’s shoulder as he says seriously, “I am grateful for your bravery. Remember those who suffer when you hide the truth.”

Destin ducks his head, but nods.

“There’s new houses being built by the quarry. There’ll be one for you. That will be my gift at your hand-fasting. Until then, Destin, you would do well to seek your aunt.”

“She has offered us a cot, sir, and I accepted. We thank you.”

Brigid whispers, “Your generosity is unimaginable.” Jared smiles softly before he bids them to go home to where their dinner undoubtedly awaits.

Jared pulls the ties at Jensen’s wrist loose easily and tucks them away. Jensen smiles up at Jared. “That was clever to challenge Brigid. Dramatic, but clever” he remarks.

“What, you think they gave me this post because of my devastating good looks?” Jared tosses his braids childishly. Jensen laughs at that, honest and pure, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Now, come. There’s a warm hearth waiting.”

Jensen shrugs helplessly. “Unless you carry me…” he trails off, gesturing at his lack of shoes.

“I think I can manage that,” Jared assures him, opening his arms. Jensen lets Jared lift him up and tucks his cold feet against Jared’s waist, snorting when Jared yelps at the freezing sensation.


	5. Medieval Euphemisms are Pretty Weird

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluff mostly, with a little insight into Jensen's head.

 Jensen wakes early every day, but if Jared’s conscious enough, he can keep Jensen in bed with him a little longer. Jensen will stir, grumbling slightly, and Jared just wraps his arms around Jensen and pulls him back into the warm cocoon of bedding. Jensen hardly protests, sinking back down and going pliant in Jared’s arms.

Of course, the quickest way to break that is to try to kiss him. Jared’s stopped trying that, though he still presses soft kisses to Jensen’s freckled cheekbones, soft hair, and newly-callused fingertips.

Jared doesn’t miss his other bedmates, though they still try to throw him sultry looks. There’s nothing that can compare anymore. Jensen’s head tucked under his chin, his wrist tight in Jensen’s grasp, is all he needs.

Once they rise, they are Master and thrall, Jensen quietly scurrying around to get things for Jared before he can even begin to need them.

Jensen’s efficiency means Jared is well envied for a pleasing and obedient thrall. Jensen has grown in the past month alone, softness giving way to wiry muscle. Jared massages sore shoulders in the evenings when he and Jensen retire to sit in front of their hearth. Jensen’s voice soothingly tells far-fetched stories of long lost empires and in the warm glow of the fire there is a quietude and peace. It is an intimacy Jared has never known, but there is no risk of him wishing it away any time soon.

Jared usually releases Jensen from his duties on days when Jared holds meetings. The people air their grievances to Jared in the hall all day long and there’s no need for Jensen to kneel by him at all times.

Jensen goes a-wandering in his free time. If he’s honest with himself, his free time usually turns into help-someone-else time.

Today, he’s milking cows. He sees Alaina’s long legs before the rest of her, tromping through fallen straw to glare, not at him, but in general. She’s a fearsome woman when displeased and he shrinks a little, leaning into the warm hide of the cow he’s milking.

“What are you doing?” That’s not quite the question and they both know it.

“I had free time,” he tries to explain.

“Jensen.” Her tone is foreboding. “She off with her lover again?

“They get little enough time together, and I was dismissed for the day so I thought-”

“You thought  you’d sacrifice your day. Go on, boy, you work hard enough.”

“Alaina?”

“Move along. Only one more anyway, and I can take care of that. Right before I take care of Edda for taking advantage of you.”

Jensen tries to open his mouth, but she just pulls him up forcibly and shoos him away. He quirks a small smile at her, and she swats at him fondly to get him out the door. “Go do something you enjoy, you fool, while you’re young enough to get your bones out in the cold.”

He wanders around, cold, but not badly so, watching people at work and children running about. Danneel near about runs straight into him, but he catches her before she can topple over.

“Milady?” He steadies her and then drops his hands like she’s fire. He’s not meant to touch.

“They’re gone!” Her eyes are wild.

“Who?”

“Little Rafe and Finn, Odall’s boys.”

Jensen knows who she speaks of, great big bearlike Odall who dotes unceasingly on his tiny wife and their boys.

“Where’d they go then?”

“No one knows, not even the children. Last time someone saw them they were near the tannery.”

So the outskirts of the villages then. Too close to the forest and the quarry for Jensen’s liking. “I can go look.”

“I’m going with you.” She hurries off, expecting Jensen to follow at a similarly breakneck pace.

He gathers himself up and goes with her. They reach the edge of the village and see tiny footsteps in the slush. They’re easy enough to track, but somehow, the children have gotten far. They know time is of the essence and press on through the woods.

\-----------------------------

Jared hears the call and dismisses everyone. They need to find the little ones as soon as possible. He himself takes the quarry to search. Everyone fans out, seeking them.

Jared can see larger footprints beside small ones and his heart begins to race. Surely no one in the village would harm a child. He bounds forward, easily trampling the vegetation that bars his way. Movement to his left catches his eye and he turns and crouches, belt knife at the ready.

It is Jensen who emerges from the brush, covered in leaves and damp, leading Danneel by the hand. They’re both ruddy of cheek and thoroughly disheveled.

Straightening, Jared asks, “Enjoying a tumble?” It’s a little sharp, perhaps, but is has nothing on the withering look Jensen and Danneel throw him in tandem.

Jensen shifts so the babe on his hip is visible, tucked tightly into his cloak, while Danneel helps the small child traipsing behind her full skirts stumble out of the tangled undergrowth.

Jared feels heat rise in his cheeks slightly. He leans down and scoops young Finn up, shrugging his cloak around to wrap the boy up. Finn sucks on his thumb and hides his face away, clinging tightly to Jared.

Jensen leads the way into the village. Danneel pauses to hiss, “Idiot,” at Jared before she follows Jensen.

The moment he sees them, Odall snatches his baby boys from their arms.

Seeing the fury lining his face, Jared advises, “Do not chastise them. Even Finn is only now five, and Rafe is younger still.”

“It’ll be our air-headed girl I’ll be reprimanding. She was to keep an eye on them.”

Jared doesn’t envy that thrall. A man’s children are too precious to lose. “Go to your wife, Odall, let her see her boys.”

His children in his arms, Odall thanks him and goes home. Jared calls Misha, Richard, and Chad to him, tells them to let people know the children are home. They disperse efficiently, and Jared trusts his people will be back to work in short order. He himself is done for the day.

Jared reaches for Jensen, calls to him, and Jensen looks at him with those cold eyes and ducks out of reach.

\--------------------------------------------------

Jensen turns his back on Jared and walks away, daring Jared to make a move. Jared doesn’t make a sound, and Jensen doesn’t turn back, can’t look into those confused eyes.

Jared insinuates lewd things without a second’s consideration for propriety or Jensen’s vows.

Though Jensen is among pagans, heathens, sinners, he cannot speak against their false gods. He must silently suffer their idolatry. That is not difficult in the end. But to silently stand as Jared doubts him, doubts his morality, his loyalty? It’s a task Jensen cannot undertake. While surely his God’s disapproval should weigh more heavily in his heart, Jensen finds Jared’s bitter words harder to swallow uncomplainingly.

So now, he will leave Jared there. If he cannot speak with Jared, he cannot forgive him before ‘tis time. Perhaps tonight Jared will punish him for insolence, but thus far, he’s let Jensen walk out of his sight without argument. Jensen goes back to the cowshed, slips inside without meeting another soul.

The cows shuffle and snort at his arrival, but they let him pass. He climbs easily up into the hayloft. Curled into the straw, he can feel his fingers and toes once again, the heat making them sting slightly. It smells of animal here, but in a strange way, the smells and sounds of the shed are soothing.

\------------------------------------

Jared watches Jensen leave. It’s so damned frustrating, to go all the way back to the beginning.

Jared should apologize. There’s no question that his remark hurt Jensen, though Jared can’t fathom why it would cut Jensen so deeply.

He sits indoors for a good time, pensive. No chieftain shows weakness, no master admits having wronged a thrall, but for an honorable man to refuse to take responsibility would be unthinkable. Jared must decide. Is he  chief, a master, or a man?

The conclusion is simple. To be the master of another man, to guide many people well, one must first be a good man. Therefore, Jared must seek Jensen out and ask forgiveness.

Unfortunately, finding Jensen is apparently impossible. Jared finally catches one of the kitchen girls and asks her.

“Where all the boys go, I’d imagine,” she says, looking at Jared as though he’s a bit slow. “The hay loft’s where they disappear to when they wish to dodge work.”

Jared can’t believe he didn’t think to look there. He jogs there lightly, weaving around people.

Sure enough, Jensen’s flopped on top of a heap of hay. Jensen looks up when his name is called, but otherwise leaves Jared unacknowledged. Jared ponders speaking from down on the ground, but decides it’s much better to just clamber into the loft.

Jensen sits up and scoots backwards, head cocked to one side.

Jared puts his hand out, palm up, a peace offering as he says, “I am sorry, Jensen. I spoke out of turn and if I offended or hurt you, I truly did not mean to do so. If you tell me why it struck you so, I swear I will not speak thusly again.”

Jensen reaches out slowly and lays his hand over Jared’s. But where Jared expected Jensen to take his hand and then come down, Jensen just pulls him closer and pushes him onto his back in the hay. Jared lets Jensen manhandles him, though he could easily remain immobile.

Jensen curls into Jared’s side and says, soft, but clear, “Do not call me disloyal or unfaithful to my face, Sir.”

And Jared understands. No man, no matter how low his station in life, undervalues his reputation.  It is disheartening that Jensen retreats to formalities the moment he feels off-balance. Jared breathes into the silence for a long time until Jensen wriggling closer prompts him to teasingly say, “You are mine then?”

“Perhaps,” Jensen replies thoughtfully. “Inasmuch as you are mine.”

Jared nods. A beat passes before he speaks again, huffing a laugh.  “You realize what they’ll say if we roll out of here with a dusting of hay?”

“Don’t care,” comes the faintly grumpy voice, muffled where Jensen’s mouth is mashed against Jared’s broad chest. Jared laughs and sees Jensen peek up at him with squinty eyes.

Caught off guard by the swell of fondness that overtakes him, Jared can only smile and gather his thrall into his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, I can't maintain a writing style for more than a chapter. Enjoy.


	6. On Edge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are having a sad day, plz don't continue reading Enthralled until chapter seven has come out. Not a cliffhanger, no danger of that, but this chapter is also not about Jensen becoming an ethereal embodiment of love and sparkles. So don't read it until chapter seven can ameliorate some (only some, sorry) of the ouchies. I love y'all and I want you to take care of yourselves. <3

Jensen gains great freedom, greater than many thralls in the village. In part, it’s because he is assumed to be performing certain duties in bed, but it’s also because Jared is lenient. Jensen gets commandeered occasionally, by those of higher class (like Danneel) and those who are in much the same boat he is in (like Christian). Chris drags him to small gatherings of thralls, makes it known that Jensen is one of them and anyone who’s going to fuck with Jensen is going to have to go through him first. Jensen’s getting used to it, the revelry, the comradeship. It’s so odd after years of silence. Chris’ given to grinning at Jensen’s startled expression, and shoving him into the midst of a crowd.

Danneel is…stranger. She’ll take Jensen for rambling walks, has him carry a basket or sack. Sometimes she collects things along the way, sometimes she just brings food. If she brings food, she shares it with Jensen freely.

She shows him some truly beautiful places. There are great forests, open stony land, and sharp cliffs. Seeing the ocean makes Jensen ache for home, and Danneel seems to sense his discomfort. She brings him near the sea less often, but they don’t avoid it entirely. There’s something she’s trying to tell him, he just hasn’t figured it out yet.

She points out all the natural resources, the density of the trees, the fast-fading snow. It’s all supposed to come to one conclusion, but he hasn’t pieced it together yet. Yet.

Jared’s gotten used to Jensen straying from his side a little more. In the end, Jensen ends up back in his bed anyway, where he belongs. Jensen protests Jared babying him within their home (and really, when did it become _theirs_?) but not too much. Jared likes the way Jensen seeks out his soft touches. It’s sweet and it’s something Jared never expected to feel burning so fiercely in him. It tugs on Jared’s heart when Jensen looks up at him, pouting slightly if Jared takes his big hand away from Jensen’s skin.

Jared likes falling asleep with one hand on Jensen’s sharp hipbone and Jensen using his other arm as a pillow. Jensen’s form fits so neatly against Jared, the slight height difference just enough.

Jensen flushes scarlet and almost falls out of bed trying to get away if he feels Jared’s hardness pressing into him in the wee morning hours, so Jared has had to sneak out of bed to deal with things rapidly a few mornings. Somehow, Jensen welcomes his cold form back into the bed and wraps himself around Jared like a vine clinging to a tree. It makes Jared laugh quietly, and smile down at Jensen, who doesn’t appreciate that in the slightest, hushing Jared sleepily.

Jared likes helping Jensen into more layers before they step out for the day. It’s odd to enjoy that as much as removing the layers at night, but Jensen’s simple dependence is a small wonder. This morning, Jensen clasps Jared’s silver torq around his neck fastidiously, his brow furrowed as he tries to make it lie flat over Jared’s thick cloak. Jared’s looking straight ahead to make things easier for Jensen, so he doesn’t see it coming when Jensen presses the most timid kiss to the underside of Jared’s scruffy jaw. Jensen’s out the door in the blink of an eye, leaving Jared grinning a little dopily behind him.

Jared’s not concerned if he doesn’t see Jensen all day. Truth be told, he had feared other thralls being jealous and hurting Jensen in little ways, but Jensen shouldering more than his assigned duty has endeared him to them somewhat.

Today, Jared has seen neither hide nor hair of Jensen. He’s held a damned cow while she calved, helped the men with the house building going on currently, and intervened in a dispute between two housewives. It’s not his favorite kind of day, but he’s done what he had to for his people.

When Jared reaches home and tosses his boots aside carelessly, he’s surprised to not hear Jensen quietly, fondly, scolding him. On the other hand, there are at least three children put on bed rest, complaining of aching throats (until they lost their voices entirely) and sniffling. Jensen’s been playing nursemaid, concerned mother, and entertainer for a few days now. It lets the mothers get on with their work for a bit and they trust him to take care of their wee ones.

Jared settles in, the fire still high enough to light the room. Jared doesn’t mean to sleep then, but somehow, after the stresses of the day, he can’t keep his eyes open.

When he wakes, his shoulder is sore, but not so much that he can’t move it. He tests it gingerly for a moment, but suddenly notices that Jensen’s not beside him. His side of the bed lies as neatly as it did the night before.

He rises, pats the bed like it’s some trick his eyes are playing on him, and sits right back down again. _Where in Odin’s name is Jensen?_

He hurries out, barely remembering to grab his cloak for warmth. He checks the kitchens, the stables, the quiet copses near the houses, everywhere he can. He even checks absurd places no human man could fit into, just in case. He keeps a smile on his face when he asks if someone has seen Jensen, just has a question, wondering where he is.

When he goes back to the house to check once again, hoping against hope, he notices something he didn’t see this morning. Jensen’s book, the one he holds so close and refuses to share? It’s gone, along with the pigments and quills that lay with it on the small side table.

Finally, he can’t ignore it anymore. Jensen’s vanished.

He calls together a small council, men who served his father well or men who grew up with him and informs them, with clenched fists and a tight throat that his thrall is gone. There are some muttered threats, but Jared holds his hand up to silence the rising murmurs. “I want him back. He will answer to me, and me alone. I want him found. Now. Divide and spread out.”

He dismisses them, lets them group up and go to find their horses. Matthew stays behind, looking concerned. Those blue-green eyes are troubled, and he’s running his hand through his dark hair. “Jared?”

Jared drags one hand down his face and looks up, quirking an eyebrow. They’re the same age and Matt has been a good friend.

“I don’t think we’re the first.”

“First what?”

“First ones to go looking for him.”

“What?” Jared sits up properly from his slump.

“A couple of men took off a little earlier than the others, as soon as you said Jensen was gone.” Matt using Jensen’s name and not calling him ‘the thrall’ pleases Jared, but this new news is worrying. “Rollo snuck out first and Misha followed him shortly.”

Rollo. Tyr’s cousin. Oh this is not good at all. Men out for revenge, literally hunting the man they hate. And what is Misha doing following them? Misha’s a peculiar man, to be sure, but until now Jared trusted him implicitly.

Matt tries to reassure him. “Jensen’s got at least half a day’s start on them, maybe even a day. He might evade them and get caught by one of the others?” The feigned optimism falls flat.

Jared can pretend that the odds are good for Jensen, but it’s a faint hope, really. Tyr is motivated far beyond any of the others. He’ll press onward hard to find Jensen. “Do you know which way they set off?”

“No, I’m sorry.”

Jared paces in place for a moment. “Tell the riders that haven’t set off that if they come across those men, I have ordered them back into camp and they need to pass that message along.”

“Yessir.” Matt bustles off with purpose.

Jared pauses for a moment, debating his next move. If he goes out, there’s no guarantee he’ll find them. If he stays, he can be there so someone can keep him updated. In the end, his wish to hunt them down must give way to the practicality of being able to stay in charge of the situation.

He settles in for the wait, anxious. He waits and waits, mustering all his patience until he cannot sit still a moment longer. He walks out through the village, mindlessly avoiding people. They skirt around him too, something in the dark look in his eyes warning them away.

 He’s startled from his reverie by the sound of horses, looking up to find the very men he was searching for. Tyr’s face is too smug for Jared’s liking, and Jensen is nowhere in sight. Misha’s face is a blank slate, devoid of emotion. They dismount easily and duck their heads respectfully to him.

“Where is he?” It’s a demand, yanked out of Jared’s lungs on a desperate breath.

“We took care of him,” Tyr answers, stepping forward.

“Who? Who exactly?”

“Misha. We found him out by the cliffs and pretty-boy here jumped down and took his shot.” Jared can see the quiver on Misha’s back, the bow hung on his saddle horn. “And you know, the bitch didn’t even try to run, just whimpered so nice. It was over too fast for the little thief. He stole everything you loaned him, Sir. You should be more careful.” It’s distasteful show, walking the line of disrespect. “He died too easily, in my opinion. One arrow to the chest and he went right over.” Tyr seems disappointed and Jared cannot stomach his ugly tone.

“Dismissed,” Jared barks, pointing at Tyr and Rollo. “Collins. Let’s go.”

Misha nods, without betraying what he thinks of any of it. They make it to Jared’s house, and Jared ushers Misha insides brusquely, feeling no charity towards the man. “He’s gone?”

“He went over the cliff edge, Jared.” Misha’s tone is just so neutral, Jared wants to slam his head into a wall, see if he can force emotion out of him.

“Why’d you take the shot?”

“I’m a good marksman.”

“No, damn you, why did you take the shot?” Jared’s bellowing, backing Misha back into the door, before he steps away again, drawing in a shuddery breath.

“You know what they would have done?” Now Misha looks dangerous. “You know what happens to fugitive thralls? They talked about it, you know. They planned it very well. He’s lucky I went with them, and you have to see that. He would have died in an unmanly fashion. What I did was a mercy. You don’t have to thank me, you even don’t have to like me. But know, that was the only thing I could grant him. That last mercy.”

“Get out,” Jared says, and somehow it sounds like a deadly promise. Misha nods curtly, and leaves uncowed. And somehow, Jared feels like Misha is disappointed in him.

Jared fingers the torq around his neck before he rips it off violently, throwing it into a corner. He slides down the wall and sits there, crumpled with his head in his hands. Try as he might, even pressing the heels of his hands painfully into his eyes, all he can see is Jensen. Jensen trusting him. And Jared failing him. Jared lets the scalding tears well up, feels his throat seize. _He’s gone._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This goes out to Lexie(fawnspotsam on tumblr) for being my queen of SPN angst.
> 
> Also, TK and Amber, I wish you much more happy fuzzies than this chapter is gonna give you.


	7. Does wishful thinking make it so?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Real life kicked my ass. Midterms were madness and I've been pining. And if you try to write while pining, your characters seem to sustain less and less plausibly survivable injuries. So, you know if you don't enjoy your Jensen broken into thirds, don't let me write while pining.  
> You'll all be pleased to know I stopped pining, screwed my courage to the sticking place and asked my love to be mine. And miraculously, it went wonderfully. I might not be smooth, but I got the best damn person in the world.  
> Also, if I don't respond to a comment it's probably because I either can't handle a compliment because I'm a dork or I don't know how to answer without giving you spoilers and I'd hate to do that.

Jared drifts. He hasn’t really slept, but he’s not really awake either. Maybe if he refuses to wake, it’ll all have been a dream. A terrible dream, but a fleeting one. It can’t be real. Jared doesn’t know what people are doing, but he thinks he’s faking it pretty well. No one’s been trying to soothe him. Of course, he snarled at the last person who touched him, so maybe they’re just giving him some space. He can’t remember what he last ate, though he’s pretty sure someone yelled at him about taking care of himself.

It takes him a moment to realize he’s stopped walking. Sometimes when he drifts, his limbs freeze up. But this time there’s someone there. He blinks through the haze. Richard. Richard stopped him. Richard counseled Jared’s father before he decided to follow Jared on a harebrained adventure to settle new land near his uncle.

What does Richard want? He’s snapping his fingers in Jared’s face until Jared’s eyes focus again.

“By the gods, you really are slipping.”

Jared tiredly swats him away, but Richard refuses to let him leave. “Have you seen Misha lately?”

“No.” Jared’s face darkens.

“Isn’t that strange? And you know what else is strange? He keeps going into the woods. With Danneel. So very, very odd.”

Jared can’t even parse that. People have affairs. You have a husband to make children and a lover to bed for fun. _Why in Sjöfn’s name should he care about them?_ Richard’s got a small grin on his face, like he’s waiting for Jared to figure something out. Jared just leaves, and finally Richard lets him go.

But he can’t forget Richard’s expectant eyes and the words tumble round and round in his head like a tuft of wool thrown to the winds.

So, he shakes off the miasma of despair he’d willingly sunk into and goes to fetch his things. He straps on his saxe, fills a saddlebag with some food and a horn of mead and sets off. His horse seems eager to go, hasn’t been properly exercised for a week. She sets off at a tölt, unconcerned by the tangled vegetation she’s trampling underfoot.

Jared follows the trails through the woods and out to the sea. It’s not a path often taken by his people, not when there’s a shorter and less circuitous route down to the harbor. This takes him around the swell of the coast, past the deep inlets and to the rocky cliffs. He would find it more beautiful if he wasn’t seeing a conjured image of Jensen’s broken body every time he closed his eyes.

He keeps to the trail where it wends, a stone’s throw from the dark sea. There’s hardly anything out this close to the edge, just sparse grass.

Briefly, he wonders if he ought to have brought another man with him. There’ve been further advances by the Skraelings every year and with the spring, travelers are going to sea once more.

Distracted by noting the defenses they’ll need with the warmer season nearly upon them, he almost doesn’t notice the smoke rising waveringly above the trees.

Of course, he hasn’t stayed alive so long by ignoring what is right in front of him.

It’s just a smudge against grey skies. The sun has not cleared all the fog yet, and the trees are thick and tall. Despite that, Jared sees it and head straight for it. There are people who live outside his lands, but rarely do they venture close, and never would they dare do so without arranging it with him.

He dismounts at the edge of the woods and hitches his horse. There’s enough shrubbery around her to keep her busy. Drawing forth his saxe, he orients himself towards the smoke and wanders into the woods. For the first time in weeks, he’s clearheaded, focused.

He’s careful, stepping as lightly as he can over branches. He sees the fire before anything else, burning steadily in the middle of the clearing.

And then the man to his right turns and makes a small startled noise. Jared feels his head swim, the world dimming for a moment. It’s a painful, disbelieving rasp that escapes him when he asks, “Jensen?”

Jensen stands there unmoving, so still that for a moment Jared thinks it’s another hallucination, or maybe he never woke this morning and he’s trapped in some twisted dream. One cheek is bruised yellow, fading to green at the jawbone, but it’s not the carnage Jared’s been picturing. Still, he barely breathes, unwilling to break the spell in case Jensen’s a figment of his imagination, about to fade into nothingness.

\---------------------------------------

Jensen isn’t ready. He knew people would eventually find him if he didn’t keep moving, but he’s not ready for them. He certainly isn’t ready for Jared.

He hefts the staff, the one he’d cut a few days earlier with the intention of making an atgeir, uneasily with his left hand. He’s a dead man anyway, and his right arm is still relatively useless for anything requiring force, but he’ll fight with what he has. From here, Jared’s face is like stone, hard lines carved from it.

Unhappily, exhausted, he says, “You’ll have to forgive me, sir, for defending myself.”

Jared looks lightning-struck, perhaps even slightly appalled but he does not lower his saxe.

Jensen moves in first, swinging clumsily. He manages to bring the staff down, a sideswipe to Jared’s leg, but Jared barely flinches. It takes no time at all for Jared to grab the staff and yank it out of his hand, but instead of slitting Jensen’s throat for even trying, he sheathes his saxe and glares. He makes no move when Jensen edges away from him.

“You’re not dead,” Jared growls. He shakes his head and, slightly hysterical, asks, “You’re not dead?” He’s unbelievably pale and his eyes look like they’re about to pop out of his head.

“Not yet.” Jensen backs away, puts the fire between them.

Leaning onto the staff, clutching it to stay upright, Jared keeps talking with desperate madness. “You’re alive. You’re here and you’re alive. Weeks, weeks I thought you were dead. Odin’s breath, I’m going to kill Misha. I have been out of my mind for weeks. I wasn’t there and I couldn’t do anything and I am so sorry. I’m so sorry, but by the gods I am grateful I can say that to your face and not to an unknown sea grave. Did you even get hurt? What happened?” Jared’s hoarse voice begs for answers, but he keeps his distance from Jensen. Still, his eyes linger gently on Jensen.

Jensen decides to start slow. Quietly he answers, still waiting for Jared to remember that Jensen’s a runaway thrall and a dead man walking. “Misha just hit my arm. There was no way I wasn’t going over the cliff, but it was only my arm. I’ve had worse. I knew I was going to hit the water, so I just tried to aim for an area without rocks. Obviously,” he trails off, gesturing at the bandages visible at the edges of his clothing, “I wasn’t totally successful. At least it snapped the arrow and pulled it out…” he drifts into silence, unable to maintain eye contact with Jared’s wild hope.

“How did you…wait you can swim? How’d you get out?”

“I was born in Ireland, Jared.” There, there is a touch of impatience, Jensen losing his ever-tenuous grip on subservience. “We’ve all swam in the sea and we’ve all dared each other to dive off a cliff. It’s practically a rite of passage. I’d say your waters aren’t nearly so breath-stealingly cold, actually. I knew to hold my breath even when the cold nearly punched it out of me. There’s a beach right there, under the cliffs and I had gone down far too close to the cliffs to get dragged out by the waves, I suppose. I pulled myself over to the rocky shore. I don’t recommend swimming with an arrow hole in your arm, in case you were wondering. Or jogging up a cliff path.” Jensen barks a dry laugh, the story spilling out of him faster than he knew he could form the words. “By the time I got halfway up the cliff I was barely able to remember where I was going and why, just that I had to. But I made it back to my shelter. I don’t remember much about what happened, but Misha says I burrowed under the leaf cover and into the loose dirt there. I remember seeing the sun. Misha hauled my wet clothes off, wrapped me in the blanket I had and the two he’d brought, bandaged me up as rapidly as he possibly could and curled up under them with me until I stopped shaking.”

Jared growls a little and Jensen stares him down until Jared remembers that Jensen is not a slave here. He ran. And dead or alive he will not be another’s property for the rest of his life. If that life ends here, it will end free.

Jared pushes up off the staff, lets it fall to the ground carelessly. “Are you hurt?” It’s a tone that says Jared’s not going to back off. Indeed, he advances, but when Jensen darts a look back into the trees he stops. “ _Where_ are you hurt, Jensen?” This question is softer, probing.

Jensen can’t get Jared to give up, so he himself has to give in. He just doesn’t have the energy to go head to head with Jared. Stiffly, Jensen pulls his shirt up, crying out when his arm pains him. Jared moves forward half a step, hands outstretched, but halts in his tracks when Jensen looks back up at him. There are lines running down Jensen’s torso and arms and there are more on his back that Jared can’t see. They burn slightly in the cooler air and his arm still throbs in time with his heartbeat. His body is painted with paled bruising like a rainbow in dissipating mist.

“Gods, Jensen, how are you standing.”

“Painfully, sir,” Jensen bites back.

\----------------------------------------------------------

Jensen stands there so distantly. Something in his eyes, cold and hard, frightens Jared. Jensen looks dead _inside_. “Jensen, let me help.” He backs up, trying to demonstrate that Jensen doesn’t have to run.

“You can’t take me back. You can’t-“

“I won’t,” Jared promises, no matter how hard that promise is to make or how hard it will be to keep. “I won’t, but I also won’t let you hurt yourself like this.”

Jensen sighs. “This is nothing, Jared. This is nothing compared to what has come before, or will come after.”

Jared feels his mouth tighten but he keeps silent. This Jensen will not abide by any rules, and he certainly won’t put up with Jared behaving like a blockhead.

“Let me help, Jensen,” Jared reiterates. “Tell me what you need.”

Jensen nods, slowly. “I need water for the pot. Can you bring some from the stream?”

Jared agrees immediately. The pot is large and unwieldy, but Jared carries it to the stream, and hauls it back. Once back, he quietly asks Jensen how he’s been doing this with his body in the shape it is.

“You do what you have to when it’s a matter of survival. It’s not fast or easy, but it must be done.” Jensen’s angry, hurt, and bitter and yet Jared finds himself impressed at how Jensen’s channeled that fury into work.

Jared sets the pot above the fire, and steps back. Jensen takes a handful of something from a pouch and tosses it in. At Jared’s quirked eyebrow, he explains, “Moss. Misha demands it.” Jensen proffers a spoon to Jared and jerks his head towards the pot.

He stirs the water gingerly with the roughly carved wooden spoon, watching Jensen meticulously unpeel the thin layer of bandages. He nearly burns himself when Jensen undoes his pants and begins unwinding the bandages that begin at his hips and go down to his knees. The dark red lines on his skin make Jared blindly furious, clenching the spoon handle hard enough that he feels it bend slightly in his fierce grip. He’s a good enough man to avert his eyes from Jensen’s…more pleasing features, but that doesn’t make the want disappear.

Jensen gathers up the scant lengths of linen he has and dumps them unceremoniously in the pot. “Keep stirring.”

He slips his shirt on and walks out in the direction of the stream.

It’s some time before he returns, but Jared keeps his position at the fire. At least it’s warm. Jensen’s carrying leaves from a plant Jared recognizes, the River Beauty.

Jensen delicately takes the spoon from Jared’s fingers. He uses the spoon to pull out a strip of linen and squeezes it out before hanging it from a low, thin branch. Jared copies his motions until Jensen winces when he lifts his arm too high. Jared shoos Jensen back to the fire. While Jared hangs them all, Jensen sits by the fire, rubbing his aching arm. Jared drapes his cloak around Jensen on one of the trips back to the fire and is away before Jensen can properly protest.

Jared decides that instead of just waiting for the strips to dry, he might as well go fetch some things. He goes down to the shore’s edge to find the correct rocks. He hauls them up, 13 of them, to ring around the fire. They hold the heat and he sees Jensen stretch his hands towards them.

He takes a few of the smaller strips and lays them on the outer ring of rock. They dry quickly. Jared sits silently on the other side of the fire, watching Jensen.

When the strips are dry, Jensen stands and pulls his pants down again, wrapping the bandages again, placing the River Beauty where it’s needed.

Jensen pulls his pants on and removes the cloak and his shirt, beginning to try to wrap his chest. Jared stands but doesn’t utter a word.

Finally, Jensen looks up, face slightly reddened with frustration. “Will you help?”

“Yes,” Jared says gently. “All you must do is tell me what you need, Jensen.”

Jensen lifts his arms slightly to let Jared bind his wounds. It’s cathartic for Jared, to be able to fix what he couldn’t prevent. He eases Jensen shirt back on, over the bandages, hushing Jensen when he makes a small wounded noise. Out of habit, after he drapes the cloak over Jensen again, he kisses the nape of Jensen’s neck.

Unbidden, Jensen speaks, sounding softly miserable. “I lost your cloak.”

“You fell in the sea, Jensen.”

Jensen’s fingers are petting the edges of the cloak. “I didn’t mean to lose it. I’m sorry. It was a good cloak.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for, Jensen. You paid a steep price and the loss of one cloak is infinitely preferable to losing you.” He’s already decided he’s not going ask Jensen why he ran. That just seems to pale in significance when he’s standing before a man he thought dead.

He pushes gently at Jensen to keep him sitting by the fire. After that, he goes back to his horse and saddlebags, getting food and mead.

Jensen still accepts food from his hand, though his growing shame is apparent.

“I’m not a child.”

“No, you’re not. But is it wrong to let me help you?”

“I don’t need help.”

“Rest your arm, Jensen. Please let me do this for you.” Jared’s tired. To his surprise, Jensen drops it. Jared offers small sips of mead in between bites of food, and they sit there in the quiet stillness. Fragile though the truce is, it is still peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If there are errors it's because the bae and I stayed up until 2 am last night and that is at least four hours past my bedtime. Please tell me so I can fix them!!  
> FUN FACT TIME  
> Iceland's currents are actually very odd in that by coming up from the south, they are warmer than Greenland's which come from the north. Not fun, but much more survivable...  
> Icelandic moss and Arctic River Beauty have both been used in traditional healing  
> Vikings in general had marriages to produce children, but taking a lover was not unheard of.  
> If you want to read about gay vikings go here: http://www.vikinganswerlady.com/gayvik.shtml  
> If you want to read about the Gay Viking, you're looking for the HMS Gay class gun boats and they're not as much fun as they sound.


	8. Into the Fray

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We get some hulked out Jared and even some Misha POV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jeeze it's been ages since I've posted. I was miserably ill for three weeks and even missed class (I never miss class). But here is the chapter I managed to scrape together. Also, I figured out the chapter notation thingy, no thanks to y'all (HELP ME I AM TECHNOLOGICALLY INEPT).

Jared visits Jensen when his duties permit. More often, he scrawls a note on a scrap of vellum, and passes it discreetly to Danneel. She’ll carry it to Jensen. Jared likes to think that his Latin script has improved, though Jensen often looks at his letters and smirks slightly. Jensen was a monk, trained to be a man of scripture, unphased by book learning. Jared’s hardly cared to read or write, not when there are so many other things to be done. It’s a luxury he can seldom afford himself, but it pleases Jensen, so Jared makes an effort to practice his handwriting when he can.

Jensen makes it worth his time when he does travel out. Jared will go with some bread and cheese, enough for a shared meal. Jensen makes Jared write runes in the dirt, that he might learn them. Jared leans over Jensen’s shoulder, uses Jensen’s hand to take up a stick and trace the simplest runes in the loose dirt. Jensen leans back into Jared’s heat, exhaling softly. With the stick discarded, Jensen rests in Jared’s arms. Their stolen moments are so distanced from Jared’s life as chief that Jared still fears that Jensen’s return is a dream. Jensen’s getting by, with the warmer weather. Jared spends a good many hours helping Jensen make a sturdier home. It’s no grand fort, but it won’t collapse under strong winds.

Jared wishes they had more time together, wishes that he could lie with Jensen as he would a woman. Alas, he’s courting a monk. And how like courting a blushing, inexperienced lady it is. Jared brings tokens of affection suitable for a man, a belt knife, a sturdy tunic. Jensen shies away from these, but accepts them in the end, blushing furiously all the while. Fortunately, Jared finds Jensen’s sense of propriety endearing, if confusing. Still, Jensen sends Jared off with a chaste kiss whenever Jared leaves him.

It’s been a week since Jared’s gone to Jensen and he’s finishing up business for the midday repast when the alarm sounds. He hears the clarion call and it wends its way into his bones, icy fire that burns in his veins. He orders a handful of men to stay with the thralls and women, urging the others to stand with him. His saxe in hand, he leads the charge to the bay, knowing any attackers will have to fight steep cliff-walks before they come near his people.

He feels Ægir’s breath wash over him, and calls on Odin’s strength. An icy chill burns along his skin as he stands there, free of armor. It surges in him and he sends his thanks to the Allfather as memories dance in the periphery of his thoughts.

He remembers being fourteen years of age and hearing the alarm. He remembers knowing his sister lay far behind him in their mother’s arms, knowing his brother and father stood with him. He remembers the taste of blood and ash filling every pore and crevice in his body until he _burned_ with wild fury. _Not in my home, not while I stand._

His family kept their home and their lives that day, but everything else was suddenly different for him. The villagers called him _berserkr_ and shied away in fear and awe from the scrawny sapling of a child that he was then.

With time he learned to fight with his head, but still, a man who fears losing everything fights without fear of death. He thinks of Jensen far behind him, knows that the heart of every man who stands with him here—watching those distant figures scrambling towards them—is strong and true. And again he thinks, _not in my home, not while I stand_.

The moment his blade bites bone, he knows Odin has accepted his sacrifice and he is blessed with wolf-strength. He is the _ulfhedinn_ , uncontrollable, unstoppable, unbound. He sees nothing but red as he roars his rage. And then he is lost to that swirling tide of blade and blood and bone.

Slowly he comes out of the haze. The clamor has died down but the rushing in his ears is absolutely indistinguishable from the sound of the sea. He stands over a man, watching blood seep into furs, hypnotized by the blossoming flower painted dark on the man’s chest. Until a hand rests lightly on his elbow, he cannot bring himself to move, his saxe dripping onto the hard ground.

Misha leads him to a flat rock and forces him to sit. Jared can’t unclench his hand and let go of his saxe. Misha examines Jared’s face carefully, turning it to see better in the sunlight.

Jared tries feebly to shove at Misha’s hands, but it’s to no avail. “Others,” Jared slurs insistently. “’m fine.”

“You must let me-“ Misha scolds.

“People neeed,” Jared says as firmly as he can through a numb mouth. “No’ me.”

“You’re a berserker, you will fight through a death-wound. At least let me see if we’re obligated to build a pyre tonight,” Misha says, barely teasing. He touches with gentle concern, hands sliding in the slick mud/sweat/blood mix drying on Jared’s skin.

Jared can feel the world slipping away and his last, trifling thought is a hope that he won’t look too foolish when he faints. The world goes dim and then dark.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------

Misha glares pointlessly at the slumped figure of his chief. He loves Jared dearly, but the man is foolhardy and now completely useless. Whenever he lets the wolf take him, he ends up bedridden for at least half a week. Which means Misha has to care for the idiot and also fend off assassination attempts. He gets someone to heft Jared’s enormous body over their shoulder and carry him home. Misha sends several young men to fetch his things, as he’ll be staying here with Jared for a bit.

He closes the door when they’ve all gone, bolts it against the clean up going on outside. His job is the clean up here. He undresses Jared, leaving him in only a loincloth. Under Misha’s orders, they put a pallet by the hearth and Jared’s resting there.

Misha cleans Jared’s skin quickly and efficiently. There are a few decent cuts, but—stunningly—Jared’s free of major injury. Misha can’t feel any swellings on Jared’s head, so in all likelihood he’ll wake up fit to rule again. As per protocol, Richard takes over for now as his second and a respected older warrior. With Jared covered modestly in blankets, Misha tends to his own aches. Even in the village, the skraelings tried to attack. The villagers were much more protected, of course, so Misha’s hardly injured.

Given past assassination attempts, that’s for the best. Misha still remembers trying to fight off a cowardly intruder in the pitch black night while trying not to put too much weight on his sprained ankle. Not an experience he’d care to repeat. He still doesn’t understand the Viking honor system, not even after the many years he’s lived and fought amongst them. If he were an assassin, he’d strike at night. But here, unfair fights are for weak-spirited men.

Misha rests with Jared, knowing that in the morning he faces the monumental task of trying to keep his chief alive.

Somewhere in the dark hours of the night, Misha wakes to find Jared lying weightily upon him. He’s nearly perpendicular to Misha and mumbling as he tries to crawl. Misha grunts under the impact every time Jared shifts. “Wotann’s blood, man, are we certain you have no giant ancestry?”

After narrowly avoiding an elbow to the gut, Misha heaves Jared back onto his pallet, keeping a hand planted on Jared’s chest to prevent further movement. He sighs when he hears Jared say indistinctly, “J’sen” and tries to soothe Jared before he agitates himself again. Those two have created a mess beyond all comprehension.

When Jared sinks back into his dreams, Misha can lie down. He’ll be up in just a few hours, but what sleep he can get, he’ll take gratefully.

As predicted, he has to rise early. The fire is banked, and needs to be tended to before it dies. He stacks the firewood and stokes the fire until it’s properly roaring. Using a skin of water and barley he makes a thin gruel in a pot and pours it into a bowl. While it cools, he tries to wake Jared. Sometimes the gods free him sooner rather than later from his dead man’s sleep. He sits cross legged and lifts Jared’s head to rest in his lap. Jared stirs slightly, enough that Misha knows this is the time to do this. He spoons the gruel into Jared’s slack mouth, and Jared’s conscious enough to swallow weakly, though dribbles escape his mouth. It’s like feeding a messy babe, with all the same requisites of wiping him clean and keeping him upright long enough that he won’t throw it up.

Misha checks the bandages once more before he settles by the fire with his weaving. This might be a long vigil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, tell me what you thought, if there are any egregious spelling errors, etc!  
> Fun fact of the chapter: Misha uses the more anglicized Wotann, though it still refers to Odin Allfather.
> 
> HISTORICAL INACCURACY: Skraelings, the viking name for the Inuit did have interactions(bad ones)with Greenlanders. I have no evidence they ever ventured to Iceland. *self-flagellation for being a bad history major and playing with facts to make a good story*


	9. Swiving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five night fever dreams, fucking, faith-questioning, just alliterative loving all over I guess. It's so far past my bedtime. ILY for sticking with me through this!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, guys, about how damn slow I am with updates. Life has just completely gone to shit, as it does. Hopefully I can get the next chapter up in some sort of timely manner but I have no idea. I suspect there will be 2-3 more chapters in this work.

He slept for four days and five nights and on the fifth morning, he drew a great, shuddery breath and sat up in bed. The moment Misha was within reach, he grasped Misha's arm in a vise grip. Croakily he asked, "How long?"

"About four days. How are you feeling?"

"'m fine." Jared shakes his head and uses Misha as leverage to pull himself to his feet. He takes three steps towards his tunic before his legs start wobbling under him. He sits on the bed and sulks without Misha even having to admonish him.

"Now that you're awake," Misha begins briskly, "you need actual food. Just stay put.” He points at his chief as though he’s admonishing a child before whirling out of the room.

The kitchen girls are more than happy to whip up a meal, and Misha carries it back. Jared eats with great gusto, which Misha finds extremely reassuring. No ailing man could put away that much food.

Jared dresses himself and looks thoroughly pleased. Unfortunately, Misha crushes all of his dreams.

Petulantly, Jared complains, “What do you mean I cannot go see him?”

“In case it has slipped your mind, you have an entire village to see to, and I refuse to let you on a horse until you are properly well.”

Jared sighs dramatically, but steels himself. He knows the duty he took on as chief and has yet to shirk it. After so long asleep, there will invariably be things that need him.

With Misha at his side, he goes to the hall to relieve Richard from his post. The man has kept everything in admirable order as usual, and Jared thanks him sincerely.

It takes several days to get work running at the speed it needs to, and a day more for Misha to permit him on a horse.

By the time Jared makes it to the cliffs, he’s antsy. With all the work going on at home, he very much doubts that anyone had time to talk with Jensen.

He finds Jensen in the clearing, methodically sharpening staves at both ends. Jensen looks up rapidly at Jared’s approach, and as soon as he sees Jared, he launches himself at him. Jared catches his armful of Jensen, letting Jensen squeeze him half to death.

“Sorry it’s been so long,” Jared apologizes. “There were skraelings in the village and I may or may not have gone _berserkr_ …”

“I know. Actually, the _berserkr_ thing is new, but I know about the skraelings.” Jensen looks up as he speaks and all of Jared’s breath vanishes when he sees the fading bruise on Jensen’s cheekbone. He grabs Jensen’s head and tries to inspect it, but Jensen just swats him away.

“How did you know about the skraelings?”

“A few very stupid ones came this way.”

“Oh, gods, Jensen, are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, this is the only blow they landed. I didn’t duck fast enough, so really, it’s my fault.”

“What happened?”

“I killed them.”

“You what?!”

“I took a pointy stick and shoved it into their innards,” Jensen says flatly. “Here, come on.” He disentangles himself from Jared’s arms and starts walking. Jared follows, still stumbling mentally over the fact that Jensen apparently faced down three skraelings with a tree branch and came out on top.

Jensen leads him to the cliff side, where the sun is already starting to set. “Numbers one through three,” he says, gesturing down to the beach. “

Jared looks out over the bluffs and on the shore below, he can see three dark masses. “You…All of them?”

“Yes.” Jensen stares placidly at the horizon.

“How? Where did you learn to fight like that?”

"My father. I was born to a chieftain," Jensen says, glancing at Jared as though he's chastising him for his lack of imagination. "My father owned a great deal of land. I was the only son and my father trained me to defend our land. I was to be his heir, but when I had nearly reached the age of majority, my father died and his bastard son swooped in and took everything. He offered me a choice: a life in a monastery or death. Obviously I chose life.” He nearly spits the words out like they taste bitter on his tongue. He keeps his eyes fixed on some distant point.

“A reasonable choice,” Jared says gently. He rests a hand on Jensen’s shoulder as a comforting gesture, and Jensen looks at him briefly before ducking his head.

“I spent nearly half my life in the monastery, kneeling on cold stone and pretending it was piety. The abbot complied with the orders to keep me from the village. I wasn’t even permitted to minister to the dying. They mostly had me maintain the chapel. Though,” he smiles faintly, “young women who feared the elder brothers sometimes sought me out. Still, even amongst my fellow brothers, I was a pariah. Their Christianity was as false as mine, no love in their hearts. Years of silence and solitude, for what? I was no seventh son, born to serve God. I had a weapon in my hand as soon as I could walk, and with one fell swoop all of my fates changed. And then,” he snorts, rolling his eyes, “a charming group of Ostmen raided the monastery and carried me off with the gold they found.”

“Ostmen?” Jared’s never pried into Jensen’s past, and this flood of words is sweeping him off his feet. He wants to just wrap himself around Jensen like a fortified wall against this pain.

“One of the men spoke enough English for me to bargain. I seem to be ever bargaining and bartering for my life.” His tone is derisive, which never fails to get Jared’s hackles up.

“What did you offer?” Jared clenches his jaw.

“I kept my life and my book, the crew of the ship got to take their anger out on me.” He pulls his tunic  at the neck to make the white lines traced over his shoulders visible. “I don’t regret that. None of the other men could have taken it. I know some of them escaped when your men grabbed me.”

Jared touches the scars and then pulls back like he’s been burned. “Jensen,” he exhales solemnly. Jensen looks back at him, laid bare in the aftermath of his confession.

Jared leans in and kisses Jensen gently, hands smoothing over Jensen’s  shoulder blades and down his back. Jensen’s hands catch at his waist and he pulls back to mutter, “If we are going to do this, I intend to be comfortable.” He takes Jared’s hand firmly and drags him back to camp.

Jared knows he’s grinning stupidly, so he doesn’t hold a grudge when Jensen flicks one of his dimples. Jensen adds another log to the fire before he lies on his bed of rushes. He opens his arms to Jared, his breath hitching with surprise when Jared lies down and rolls them so that Jensen is straddling him.

“Jared?”

“Shhhh,” Jared hushes him, running his hands proprietarily over Jensen’s hips. “You’re beautiful like this.”

As if on cue, Jensen blushes. He shifts so he can brace himself on Jared’s broad shoulders. When he shifts, it’s clear they can both feel the other through the layers of clothing, and Jensen ruts experimentally against the bulge in Jared’s leggings. Jared moans involuntarily and clutches at Jensen’s hips. Jensen seems well-encouraged by that and tries again, only to be rewarded by Jared fisting a hand in his tunic and dragging him into a filthy kiss. They’re grabbing each other, kissing fast and dirty. Jensen only comes up for air to cry out Jared’s name, his fingers digging into Jared’s muscles almost viciously.

Jared feels Jensen’s release, and Jensen’s stuttering thrusts push him over the edge too. They lie there panting, until Jared eases Jensen off of him, both of them wincing slightly at the sensitivity. He curls over Jensen, rests his head on Jensen’s chest, breathing in his scent.

“You have made such a mess,” Jensen half-gasps, half-laughs.

“ ** _We_** have made such a mess,” Jared says, hiding his wide smile in the crook of Jensen’s neck.

Jensen threads his fingers through Jared’s hair, playing with the sweat-dampened locks. “You are quite fortunate that I have foresight.”

“Oh?”

“There’s water by the fire. It ought to be warm enough by now. We can clean ourselves without going anywhere.”

“Mmmm, aren’t you clever.” Jared nuzzles Jensen’s collarbones. Jensen looks so debauched like this, cheeks flushed and sweat making him glow in the firelight. He’s loose, undone, and he laughs at Jared. This is who Jensen should be all the time. It’s a sobering thought, and Jared has to hold Jensen just a little tighter.

“Come,” Jensen says fondly, sitting up and taking Jared with him.

They end up washing each other, delicate and careful. They dress quickly, before the wind can chill them to the bone, and return to bed.

The shadows have returned to Jensen’s eyes, and Jared has to pester him, has to know. He peppers Jensen’s cheeks and jawline with kisses, asking him what’s wrong.

“I don’t know who I am.” He’s so somber, nearly mournful.

“You don’t know who you are?”

“I am not a son, nor an heir. That boy disappeared long ago. I was not a good monk, but I worked hard to pray honestly and give my life to my God. Now, I have killed three men and slept with another. So what am I now? I’m not a monk, hardly even a pious man. My God no longer has a place in my heart. I have no family, no friends, barely a home." He fingers his cross, the iron weight that hangs around his neck. In one sudden movement, he pulls it over his head. He tucks it into Jared’s hand, forcing Jared to hold it tight.

“Jensen?”

Jensen doesn’t really respond; he just burrows into Jared’s warmth.

“Jensen,” Jared asks again, soft and tender, “are you sure?”

“I live among pagans now. My God has yet to protect me here, and I can no longer suffer in His name. It is dishonest to bear that cross when my heart is so full of doubt and anger.” There’s a finality in his tone.

Jared loops the cord around his wrist and settles almost on top of Jensen. He can hear Jensen’s heartbeat, feel Jensen relax beneath his weight. He’ll carry this burden for Jensen while he can, bear the metaphorical cross.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is literally 2:30 am so if there are spelling errors please let me know thank youuuuuu


	10. Treasures and Trinkets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hahahahahaha I am so terrible I am so sorry I have had one hell of an academic year and then just when I thought i might get a break, housing and work decided to crush me. So here is the long awaited chapter, and I promise I haven't abandoned this work!!!! 
> 
> Also writing historical smut is hard I give up

Jared is a fair considerate lover, when all’s said and done. Chaste greetings have fallen by the wayside; Jared tumbles off his horse and pulls Jensen into his arms, kissing him like Jensen’s very breath is honey. Jensen’s still unsure, but he’s learning fast. Before Jared he’d kissed a girl, but life as a monk prevented him from ever having more than that first fumbled moment. Jared is gentle with him, perhaps even more than he would have been with a woman. Jensen tries to reciprocate by being a pleasing and desirable lover. It works well, if the marks Jared leaves behind are any indication of his affection.

Spring has arrived and the weather has mellowed. Jared shows up one early morning with a handful of tiny flowers for Jensen, swinging off his horse and offering them with a blush. Jensen takes them and kisses Jared deeply, smiling against Jared’s mouth.

Well encouraged, Jared takes to showing up with other little gifts, sweet berries and gallnuts from a willow. A bit of iron, some wine, and a healthy application of fire turns the gallnuts into ink. The ink Jensen makes from the gallnuts is the perfect blue-black for annotating his illustrations. He still hasn’t shown Jared his book. Jared cannot read much anyway, and he seems uninterested in the book. Jensen pauses in contemplation, wondering if he’ll have time to teach Jared enough to read the book.

Today, Jared greets him with a delighted grin. He carries a basket with him and nearly skips over to Jensen. Jensen lays the knife and whetstone in his hands down and tilts his head up for a kiss. Jared’s exuberance is infectious and Jensen finds himself smiling into the kiss. Jared kneels by him and opens his basket to reveal a pot, which in turn he opens to reveal something that smells heavenly.

“I stole away with a bit of the lamb stew from last night.” He waits eagerly for Jensen’s reaction. Jensen delivers, smiling so wide and so long his jaw aches. For a man living on sea birds and their eggs, a meal of lamb is worth a king’s fortune. Jensen hadn’t thought Jared could top the hakikarl, though the mere fact that Jared had saved some of the treasured shark for him warmed Jensen to the core.

Jensen lets the stew warm by the fire, the rich smell of herbs making his mouth water. Jared lets him watch the stew, simply wraps his arms around Jensen and soothes him as his stomach growls. It’s almost cruel, having to wait, but Jensen must savor this, eat it like it’s his last meal on earth.

The heady smell signals that the stew is warmed through and Jensen devours it, all sense of manners or etiquette banished by the burning hole in his gut. Even the scraps of a Viking chief’s table are heavenly compared to the food Jensen hunts in these woods. The spring weather is a blessing, but Jensen has only the most rudimentary hunting implements at his disposal and large game like an elk is far beyond him.

Sitting at the fire, Jensen wipes his mouth roughly, breathless from the sheer joy of such wholesome food. Jared smiles at him and leans in to lick at the corner of Jensen’s mouth playfully. Jensen shoves at him half-heartedly, but Jared just comes back to kiss him. He gently pushes Jensen back, cradling his head so it won’t hit the dirt. He kisses his way down Jensen’s jaw and leaves light bite marks down his neck. He renews the yellowing bruise on Jensen’s collarbone, unlacing Jensen’s tunic as he moves down. Jensen locks his legs around Jared’s waist and tries to pull his shirt off. Jared helps him, laughing a little to himself.

“Oh shut up.”

“You cannot hide how eager you are, Jensen,” Jared mutters against Jensen’s skin, and Jensen squirms under the tickly breath of Jared’s continued chuckling.

Jensen lifts himself up by his legs, pressing his body against Jared’s. He gives an unsurprised snort. “Ah yes, as you yourself are clearly so disinterested.”

Jared rocks back against him wordlessly. He’s never denied how much he wants Jensen. They’re lazy, taking slow pleasure by the heat of the fire. Boldly, as Jensen shudders his way through his release, he bites down on Jared’s shoulder. Later, as they dress again, there’s some small feral part of him that’s viciously pleased that the bruise will remind Jared of Jensen every time he moves that arm.

Jared stays to hold Jensen, to wipe the sweat from his skin, and kiss him sweetly once more. Today, Jensen cannot reciprocate. There’s a heaviness to his heart, as he hides his face in Jared’s broad shoulder.

“Jensen?”

Jensen feels Jared speak, the rumble in his chest so stupidly soothing. He winds his arms around Jared and holds him tightly.

“Jensen, what’s wrong? I’m not going anywhere.” Stupid Jared with his pointless reassurance.

“I am.”

“You are what?”

“I must leave.”

“Jensen, no!” Jared is vehement, his grip tightening on Jensen’s arm.

“Jared, please. Surely you knew I couldn’t stay here. The days are growing warm and someone will find me and kill me properly.”

Jared’s face darkens dangerously.

“I must leave, Jared. Unless you intend to break your promise and drag me back with you,” Jensen reminds him sharply.

“If you must,“ Jared hedges, “when do you intend to leave? Where will you go?”

“I don’t know. I could find somewhere down the coast to shelter.”

“Stay a few days more. I’ll send Misha with you to my uncle up north. The brother of my father, he trades with the Saxons regularly. He can assure you safe passage to some other land.”

“I’ll be safe?”

“A great deal safer than following your plan to wander until you found shelter,” Jared remarks, a little bitter.

Jensen kisses his clenched jaw, murmuring Jared’s name. To hear him sound so torn actually eases Jared’s heartache. Jared doesn’t speak, he just holds Jensen, trying to memorize the feeling of Jensen in his arms.

“I’ll stay for now,” Jensen acquiesces. Jared nods stiffly and tries to choke down the fear that burns within him.

\---------------------

When Jared comes charging into the clearing, two days later, Jensen seems unperturbed. To be fair, Jared runs at full tilt for lots of reasons. What Jared does not typically do is stop suddenly and simply gaze at Jensen without kissing him hello first. Jensen’s brow furrows, but he waits for Jared to speak first.

He takes a moment to breathe, just examining Jensen’s face contemplatively. He rummages in the bag at his hip and pulls his gift out, clenching it tightly in his hand. It’s weighty, heavy with promise. “Give me your hand,” Jared insists, gesturing impatiently. Jensen holds his hand out and allows Jared to turn it palm-up. Jared lets the cold iron slip through his other hand and fall into Jensen’s outstretched palm. Jensen examines it, letting the cord dangle from his fingers.

“It’s a Thor’s hammer,” Jared explains, wringing his hands as he watches Jensen hopefully.

Jensen sees it, the balance between the Thor’s hammer and the crucifix, cast in iron. He knows what it means, this small gift of protection and acceptance before Jensen must leave. He surges up, fists tangled in Jared’s hair and kisses him until he has no breath left in him. Jared pulls back, breathing hard and grinning stupidly, so Jensen kisses him again to wipe that grin off his face. Urgently, he paws at Jared’s tunic until it’s off. He shoves at Jared’s pants until he steps out of them, nearly tripping as they get caught on his boots. Jared swears and steps back to tug his boots off and Jensen uses the time to strip himself, throwing himself at Jared the moment his skin is bare. He moves like lightning, backing Jared up until they meet his makeshift bed. Jared slides to his knees, teasingly licking his way down Jensen’s tummy until Jensen pushes his shoulder. Jensen straddles Jared’s prone form, kissing Jared lightly as he asks, “Can you be patient?”

Jared laughs, a desperate, crazed sound. “No?”

“You must.”

Jared squeezes his eyes shut and tries to breathe normally. Which works until Jensen breathes, “Watch,” nuzzling the shell of Jared’s ear. Jared opens his eyes to see Jensen working himself open on his own fingers, using oil from a bottle Jared slipped him weeks ago.

Jensen trembles, hands slipping on Jared’s shoulders. Jared seizes the opportunity to roll them both over, sucking and laving at Jensen’s nipples as he replaces Jensen’s fingers with his own. Jensen arches his back and claws at Jared’s shoulders to keep him close. Jared works at him until he’s soft and pliant around Jared’s fingers and only then does he take himself in hand and slowly enter Jensen.

Jensen’s soft mouth falls open and he makes these little punched out, gasping moans as Jared presses into him. Jared’s got his arms hooked under Jensen’s knees, splaying him out obscenely. In Jensen’s isolated life, there is a small blessing. Jared can mark Jensen freely, dark splotches under his jaw where Jared has sucked his claim indelibly into Jensen’s skin. Jensen is more careful, hiding his marks on Jared, but Jared still feels Jensen’s handprints on his hips when he walks around the village. Jared leans down, bowing over Jensen to kiss him, swallowing his noises like they’re the air he needs to live.

Jensen meets him in the middle, one hand brushing Jared’s hair back. He kisses Jared because this is the end, this is goodbye.

\--------------------------------------

Three days later Jared watches as he mounts a horse, Misha at his side, and rides north to safety. Under layers of cloth and fur, the little iron pendant rests like an anchor on Jensen’s heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have brief notes on what the next(and probably final??) chapter will be but someone needs to remind me to actually write it. I know this hasn't had the most regular updates and I am so deeply grateful for those of you who have stuck with me. <3
> 
> As always, let me know what you thought and tell me about egregious grammatical errors!

**Author's Note:**

> There a historical inaccuracies because though I am European history major, I am also not able to devote all my time to writing perfect fanfic.
> 
> But...  
> Icelanders do have hot springs.  
> Icelanders definitely took thralls from Anglo Saxon England and the surrounding areas.  
> Icelanders settled primarily along the coast, avoiding the native peoples further inland, with little trade between the two.  
> Vikings would winter in, like many Nordic cultures, with preserved foods and stuff seeing them through the winter.


End file.
